The sky seemed to be exploding as thunder rumbled, a roiling mass of stormy black clouds carpeting its surface. Lightning would periodically flash out, stark against the turmoil, a wicked snake's tongue forking through the air. Relentless, heavy rain slanted down like shards of iron, refusing to let up even after the storm had been raging for hours. Mordred couldn't help but flinch at yet another boom rolling through the squall, having to squash down his terror even as he shook. He was out on patrol - his third ever, in fact - with the Round Table knights and his King. He didn't want to show them his fear, be proven childish and cowardly in the face of their strength.
Let alone have Emrys see him as weak.
The hidden warlock was there too, of course, sat near the front of their shelter - it was an open cave, perfect for hiding against the gale - but, unlike Mordred, he seemed to relishing in it. His intense blue eyes were bright, a small smile tugging on his lips as he looked out at the storm. His power seemed to reflect it, swelling with each burst of sound and light.
It was a wonder none of the others could see it. His aura seemed to mocking him, getting bigger and brighter as Mordred's diminished.
He really hated storms.
The young knight knew it was a silly fear, a result of a bad memory and a lifetime of hiding. He'd been 10 when he got separated from his clan, and been forced to shelter in a tree as the gods reigned down their fury with a tempest even larger than this one. His sanctuary had almost been struck by lightning, and Mordred had barely gotten away with his life. It had reminded him of too many other similar situations, having to run from both nature and man alike.
He huddled near the back of the cave, where their small, pitiful fire was crackling. The others were engaged in conversation, laughing and joking, but he couldn't bring himself to join in. He attracted a few concerned glances, but no one actually spoke until the next thunderclap. He jumped so violently that his friends stared.
"Alright there, Mordred?"
Arthur spoke, raising an eyebrow. The Druid felt himself flush at being noticed by the king, and he nodded determinedly, tucking his hands under his armpits as he did so. The older men all looked skeptical but none seemed inclined to call him out on it, until...
"Fire."
"What?"
The knights all turned to look at Merlin, who hadn't moved from his position at the entrance. The servant ignored the others' stares and focused on Mordred, nodding slightly as he spoke again.
"It's what I'm afraid of. Fire. There's no shame in it, Mordred. Everyone's afraid of something. And no one here will judge you for it."
Mordred gaped, astonished as Emrys offered his reassurance. He wasn't a fool - he knew damn well that the older sorcerer didn't trust or even particularly like him - but he was grateful that the older man still tried. As he turned to gauge the others' reactions, he was even more shocked to see them all nodding, even if Arthur did send his manservant a quizzical look as he did so.
"It's true, Mordred. I wouldn't judge you for something like that. You have no need to hide it. Even if I don't get why the very same man who built up our fire is proclaiming to be afraid of it."
Merlin just rolled his eyes and shook his head, sending Mordred a meaningful look as he did so. The knight nodded at the implication - Emrys wasn't scared so much of fire, but the act of burning.
It was a fear Mordred understood well.
Percival spoke up next, offering them trust in giving up his own fear.
"It's the ocean, for me. Waves."
"Being trapped in small spaces."
"Heights."
"Wildoreen."
"Failure."
One by one, the knights spoke up, stating their fears until only Arthur was left. The king paused for a moment, and Mordred could see his dilemma - he was leader, he couldn't seem weak - but then he nodded. He trusted his men. His brothers.
"Betrayal."
There was a small, bitter smile as he said it, the reference to his half-sister and uncle clear. Arthur's voice was soft, and sad, and proved that he was human, even if he couldn't always show it.
Mordred's heart twanged.
On impulse, he looked towards Merlin again, seeing the softened expression as he looked at his King. There was pain in his gaze, an empathy and terrible knowledge that he would one day add to his friend's fear, however unwillingly, and then there was love, a kinship never once offered to the Druid. Mordred swore to himself right then and there that he would prove himself worthy of his friend's trust, that he would prove Emrys' reservations wrong. He swore that no matter what happened, he wouldn't betray his sovereign.
Little did he know he would break that vow, just over a year later.
He never jumped at thunder again.